Denial
by sademoviolins
Summary: There are better ways to be woken up, Malcolm guesses, but none of them are as innocent as they are confusing.
1. Chapter 1

Malcolm woke up to a strange figure standing over him.

Okay, it wasn't really a strange figure; he just couldn't tell at first, since it was—he checked the alarm clock—3:45 in the morning, but as his eyes adjusted to the night and everything slowly swam into view, he could see Reese, just standing, staring at him, his hand on Malcolm's face, stroking his cheek with his thumb.

"Reese?" Malcolm said, still half-asleep, "what the fuck are you doing?"

Reese didn't say anything, which was even _weirder_ , just continued… so softly and oh-so-tenderly. Malcolm half-wondered if he was dreaming, 'cause this was definitely not Reese— _Reese_ , the family expert on punching? Yes, he was definitely dreaming, he had to have been. But blinking didn't solve anything, and neither did pinching himself, so.

"Reese," Malcolm said again, this time a little louder, "what—"

"Huh?!" Reese said, jumping away from Malcolm as if he was literally the plague. "What—what are you doing up?"

"Um…" Malcolm's eyes darted to the corner of the room, then back to Reese. "Isn't that something I should be asking you?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, laughing nervously.

"What do you mean what do I mean? You had your hand—"

"I don't know what you're talking about?"

"Reese! It was like two seconds ago! I was _literally awake for that_!"

Dewey stirred in his sleep, and Malcolm panicked for a second—if Dewey was to hear about any of this—how the hell was he supposed to explain it? Either he really did imagine the whole thing, or Reese… Reese… Honestly, he didn't know what was worse. _Is worse the right word? Or would you be happy with the second one?_ said the small part of his brain he always tried to ignore, the one that always had some "words of wisdom" to share with him about a certain someone that Malcolm wasn't interested in hearing.

"…Dude, you must have some really weird dreams," Reese said, slowly, walking away and closing the door to the bathroom behind him. Reese couldn't see or hear him anymore, as far as Malcolm knew. He ran his hand down the cheek that Reese had ("allegedly") caressed—if that was the right word for it. It was still warm to the touch, and closing his eyes, he could still feel Reese, his warmth, his gaze, the way it made Malcolm's heart…

"…You're such a bad liar," he whispered, to no one.

He didn't go back to sleep for the rest of the night.

* * *

 **its been like 40 years sorry but im Back On My Bullshit**


	2. Chapter 2

_Fuck_.

Reese panted, clutching his chest like his heart might explode. It was almost four in the fucking morning and here he was, slumped against his bathroom door like an idiot, hoping Malcolm would forget about all of it and go back to sleep. 'Cause there was _no way_ Reese was getting to sleep now.

 _"Mmm, Reese…Reese?"_ Malcolm's voice repeated in his head, _"what—"_

And Reese had panicked, because really, his brain didn't think that far ahead—it was late, and his brain was like, "Malcolm is cute", and the Minty-Mints jingle wasn't helping right then, so Reese just… did it.

Again.

It wasn't the first night he had tried it, or even thought to try it; there had been other times, too, where Reese just… wanted to know what it would be like to touch Malcolm's face with something other than his fist. But the fist wouldn't have been a big deal, you know—it was Reese! Maybe Malcolm deserved it, after all, for waking up…

But who was he kidding? Even he knew that was stupid. Just like wanting to do it in the first place.

Reese tried calming down in any way that wasn't beating the shit out of the bathroom mirror (and in turn, breaking his hand), but, really, what was he supposed to do? He wasn't supposed to be the type that thought about things (and he wasn't), so why did this matter so much? Why did he even want to, practically _need_ to look at Malcolm's (cute) face in the middle of the night and be unable to stop himself from stroking it as if Malcolm was his fucking girlfriend.

Reese did know why, actually, because it wasn't that complicated, but _dealing_ with it—that was complicated. There wasn't much he really could do other than tell (which would ruin everyone's lives) or keep everything to himself, waiting for nights like these to wonder if the other could ever possibly feel the same way.

And he guessed, for now, he'd settle for that.

* * *

 **Sometimes I think I'm like, the only person left who's still obsessed with this shit? So like, if you ever wanna talk to me about Malcolm/Reese... my inbox is always open**


End file.
